


I Google You

by econator



Series: Sweet Macaron [1]
Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF, Political RPF - France 21st c.
Genre: Angst, Awkward Crush, Boys Kissing, Celebrity Crush, Food Snobbery, Gen, Jev does emotional labour, Kitten Kink, M/M, Manu has a wicked case of depression, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of homophobia, Mentions of other world leaders, Mentions of the general shittiness that was the world in 2018, Mentions of the presidential pee tape, Paris Automobile Show, Pet Play, Tenderness, mentions of Jev's orthorexia, mentions of islamophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-08 10:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/econator/pseuds/econator
Summary: Jev thought he saw him through the crowd, just a brief glimpse of him shaking hands and having selfies taken.It can't be him. I'm sure he has better things to do with a weekday morning than come to a car show. He's the fucking president of France. He has better things to do than look at cars and talk to me. Say more nice things like he did in his letter.Jev racked his brain for mentions of his movements on the news. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, and refocussed on what the man in front of him was saying.





	1. Fleeting Assurance

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Neil Gaiman/Amanda Fucking Palmer's song "I Google You"
> 
> This is several thousand words of experiential writing exercise, started at/around the car show courtesy of a course a friend of mine is putting together based on her MFA in creative writing. It's lots of feelings and existential, meaning-of-life questions. The porn in later chapters took me a little by surprise. 
> 
> Mention of gold pants is referencing previous Jeandré fic, “Brooklyning”

Jev thought he saw him through the crowd, just a brief glimpse of him shaking hands and having selfies taken. _It can't be him. I'm sure he has better things to do with a weekday morning than come to a car show. He's the fucking president of France. He has better things to do than look at cars and talk to me. Say more nice things like he did in his letter. That he sent on paper in the mail, so I had a physical thing from him. He has better things to do than come here and chit chat with me. With is pretty eyes, and his cute smile. And dat ass. That sweet little ass, and those long, slender legs. He's so cute. No, Jev. He's the president. He has better things to do than visit you at your stand at the car show_. Jev racked his brain for mentions of his movements on the news. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, and refocussed on what the man in front of him was saying, coming in towards the end of a question about Formula E.

 _Shit. I don't know what he asked_. 'Ah, well, Formula E is the nicest series I've ever driven in. The car is very technical, so it's fun to drive. There's a great atmosphere in the paddock, being always in the city centre and accessible to fans. I love it.'

The journalist looked slightly peeved. 'So, as I said, how different is the car to F1?'

 _Oh. That was the annoyingly pointless question_. 'I don't know. I haven't driven an F1 car in three years, and the cars in both series have changed since I joined Formula E in season one. Not as much as the change that's coming next year, but a very different car. There's a lot more to think about during the race, in terms of strategy and conserving the batteries. And there's the new regulation with the race lengths. The whole series is more technical. It's more fun, because the challenge is bigger. More mental.' Jev smiled as he successfully resisted the urge to add, 'Less pointlessly political and crazy-making.'

The journalist's face was unreadable. Jev smiled at him. _It was a good answer, c'mon. I hit all the bases the PR team told me to hit so the fandom know about the new rules without wading through technical breakdowns_. Jev felt a hand on the back of his shoulder. _God, another person touching me! It's still summer, but with all these people giving me their bugs, I'm going to be so sick tomorrow!_ 'Sorry, do you mind if I steal him?' He recognised the voice from the news, suddenly savouring the contact he'd initially resented as a warm glow spread through his body. _He came! It is him! The nation's big daddy came to see me!_

'Yes, of course, Mr. Macron. Mr. President. President Macron. Sir.' The journalist tucked his recording device into his pocket, and walked into the teeming crowd.

Jev tucked his startle boner into his waistband, and turned around, grinning. 'Mr. President.'

'Manu, please.' Manu took Jev's hand in both of his. Manu ran his thumb over the back of Jev's hand before putting his hands in his pockets. He pointed at the car. 'She's beautiful and fast.' Hand back in pocket. He looked at Jev.

 _Oh God! Oh God! Say something smart, but humble_. 'I'm very proud of what our team accomplished this season. The engineers did a great job to build such a great car on a tiny budget.'

Manu crossed his arms across his chest and smiled at Jev. 'You built the team.'

 _He's googled me! He cares enough to know things about me_. 'Ah, well, I don't want to take too much credit. There were a lot of people who built the team and supported me through the title campaign.'

'It's you who was the team player for your...André. A little bird told me you taught him what he needed to know to do well in his rookie season.'

Jev blushed, looking at his feet. _He's definitely googled me. Be cool, Jev. Don't fanboy too hard and scare him away_. 'It was nothing. He gave me a lot this season too.'

'I still think you're a national hero. Best French defender, right?' Manu smiled before he glanced over Jev's shoulder, nodded, and extended his hand. 'My assistant says we need to go, but I wanted to come by and see you. Do you have dinner plans for tonight?'

 _He called me a national hero! He's been stalking my Instagram! Or my wikipedia page. Either way, squee!_ 'I, uh...' _Yes, but I'll cancel them for you_. Jev shook Manu's hand. 'I'm free from eight.'

Manu reached out and gently squeezed Jev's shoulder, stroking Jev's palm lightly with his fingertips. 'I'll send a car for you. Dress casual. It's just us tonight.' He kissed Jev on both cheeks, holding his hand between both of his own. The scent of his aftershave lingered on Jev's beard, a tantalising reminder of him.

'I'm looking forward to it.' Jev managed to keep his voice level. He watched Manu progress slowly through the crowd. He couldn't focus the rest of the day, mentally scrolling through and matching the wardrobe options available in his Parisian apartment. He felt like kicking himself for leaving his silk scarf in London. He didn't allow himself to entertain the thoughts of what the president flirting with him might mean. That was far too dangerous for standing with a car, surrounded by photographers. _He probably just wants to talk about sustainable transportation in private, where he can ask questions in peace without an audience to hear him asking silly questions. Or he's doing that thing he does where he makes friends with celebrities and asks them to donate to his campaign. Except he's not running for re-election at the moment, and he hasn't mentioned Green France in a while. Has he? I don't think so. This is a date. He came to the motor show to ask me out. I feel like a prince. A prince who's going on a date in a palace with the president. A prince who's going to look the very best of stylish casual_. Jev felt relieved when the show closed, and the team shooed him out the booth so they could clean up without his well-intentioned “help,” a message delivered to him brusquely as he put all the flyers into one pile in a stray merch box, while trying to decide between his trusty black briefs and the lucky gold ones he'd bought with André in New York.

 


	2. Apéro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jev shifted around in the back of the car. They were nowhere near the Champs Elysée. Jev felt a bit disappointed that he was dressed like a stylish prince with no palace to attend. He looked around, but they were also nowhere near Versailles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Macron has since ended his bromance with DJT. They were on good terms for a while, but the sweet French cookie responded to his people wanting a rhetorical separation from the orange man. The Gillets Jaune (Yellow Jackets) movement has also happened since the car show, and I've been getting strong vibes of feeling out of his depth from our Manu. Those “way out of my depth” vibes, combined with Jev seemingly deciding that he's being a big bro in his title year, are what drove this fic.

Jev shifted around in the back of the town car Manu had sent. They were nowhere near the Champs Elysée. Jev felt a bit disappointed that he was dressed like a stylish prince with no palace to attend. He looked around, but they were also nowhere near Versailles. _Fuck. No palace_. The driver was clearly tactically trained, but Jev still felt uneasy about not knowing where they were going. _You're just nervous about your date_. Jev took a deep breath. _No, you're not nervous, you're excited. You're excited to have a “dress casual it's just us tonight” dinner with the president – the sexiest president France has had since you've been alive – who seems to be a fan of yours. Enough to google you and write you a paper letter and come to the motor show to call you a national hero in front of people. People with cameras and mics. He won the dinner with the racer by being unbelievably cute. And by being sweet and old-school enough to write me a paper letter. And coming to ask me out in person, where everyone could see us together, not like a dirty secret to be hidden away behind hashtags and official titles. He's so lovely. It's going to be a fantastic date_. Jev absentmindedly played with his bracelet. He stuffed it inside his shirt sleeve as the driver stopped in front of a mansion made inconspicuous by the row of identical structures in the terrace. Jev felt glad he'd opted for a button-up shirt, rather than one of the t-shirts André had left at his flat over the season. _Nice love nest, Mr President!_

'Have a good evening, Mr. Vergne,' the driver said, smiling over her shoulder.

'Thanks a lot.' He climbed out of the car, and walked towards the door.

Manu opened it, smiling. 'Jev! Come in.' He was wearing jeans – unripped and dark indigo – and a bright blue paisley shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone. _Presidential yet playful. I need to look in his wardrobe, if I can talk my way into his bedroom. See what brands he wears_.

'Nice place,' Jev said, noticing three burly security guards in the sparsely decorated atrium as he walked through the door. _I thought it was just us tonight_.

'Thanks. Perks of the job. Come to the drawing room. Let's have an apéro,' Manu said, guiding him with a hand on the small of his back. Jev shivered slightly at the contact. _Be cool, Jev. Be cool_. A buff woman whose navy suit did little to hide her flak jacket stepped into their path. Manu tapped his forehead with his palm. 'Sorry. Disadvantages of the job. Would you be okay with Sophie and my security team babysitting your phone for the evening? They'll leave your phone in a locked safe, just so nobody can listen in on our rendezvous.'

 _Definitely a date_. 'Is this how you prevent hacking?' Jev said as he put his phone in the safe, next to what he assumed was Manu's. 'Cold War style metal box.'

'Yeah. Sorry about that.' Manu put his hand on Jev's back. 'It's easier to keep the phones in a locked metal box than sweep all my devices and update the passwords more than once a day.'

'I get it.'

Manu guided Jev towards a pair of double doors to the left of the atrium, his hand gentle and tender on his elbow. 'I had a password about you in July, the day after you won the championship. “Jean-Éric Vergne is the champion.” I was happy the whole day, inputting my passwords thinking about how we had won the world for a brief minute.'

Jev glowed. _I'm important enough for my title to be his password_. 'I feel complimented.' He followed Manu into the drawing room, feeling relieved when Manu closed the door on the security guards. The room was surprisingly homey for a presidential apartment, with overstuffed cushions on the extra fuzzy teal sofas, and matching soft, hand-woven rugs on the hardwood floors instead of the Persian rugs he'd seen on the Elysée's floors in the news. _This looks like a place I could be comfortable in. I'm definitely not above being the president's side piece_. Manu gestured the bar trolley. 'What would you like to start off with?'

Jev looked at the bottles on the trolley. 'Floc De Gascogne? Nice. Some of that, please.'

'Yeah. This vineyard has come a long way from the bottles we used to lift from their cellar as teenagers.' Manu unscrewed the top, and poured out two generous portions. 'This has become my favourite label. Fruity and robust, but still refreshing and unpretentious.'

Jev laughed. 'I spend my life trying to be more pretentious to fit in with the racing crowd. It's nice to drop it for a night.' He ran the back of his hand along Manu's forearm as he reached for a glass. 'You were a teenage thief?'

'Don't tell anyone. You'll ruin my reputation as a good boy.' Manu walked over to a couch with a great view of the terrace's private park, and the city skyline behind the opposite row of identical mansions. He sat down with a satisfied sigh, putting his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. Jev sat a respectful distance away, and took off his sport coat, laying it over the arm of the couch. He undid his cufflinks – silver race cars, nothing too formal – dropping them in his pocket before he rolled up his sleeves to mirror Manu's. Jev nosed the brandy as he sat back into the soft cushion. After tasting it, he hummed appreciatively.

'It's nice. Bold. Strong hit of guavas.'

'Unpretentious is nice.'

Jev looked over at Manu, worrying he was being subtly insulted. 'What makes you say that?'

'I visit other presidents' homes.' He ran his hand over the soft, fuzzy, distinctly unpresidential sofa cushion. 'I got these sofas after my first visit to the White House.'

'Because you didn't like his décor? This sofa doesn't look like what I've seen of his house. On the news, I mean.'

Manu sipped his wine. 'Do you like his décor? What you've seen of it – the Oval Office and spaces that have press access.'

Jev sipped his wine, and twirled the stem between his fingers. 'I prefer a bit less...' He gestured vaguely with his hand as he struggled to find a way of phrasing his judgey thoughts about DJT's décor style without making Manu think he was a mean person.

Manu clinked his glass against Jev's. 'What I was saying.' Manu smacked his forehead. 'The nuts. I forgot to put the nuts out.' Jev watched him walk over to the drinks trolley, and poured a bowl of pecans from a Continent own-brand bag. _It's so adorable that he forgot the snacks. That he's taking care of me himself, instead of having someone wait on us_. 'You eat keto, no? These or toasted baguette with trout pâté?'

Jev whined quietly in the back of his throat, suddenly jonesing for carbs. _He's so thoughtful though. From his body, he probably does a lot of work in the gym, so probably can't afford the extra carbs either. But the crunchy baguette with the proper French butter and creamy_ _pâté would be so delicious_. He looked from his drink to the bowl of nuts in Manu's hand, evaluating the relative sugar content of what they were likely to eat for the rest of the night. 'The nuts are already out the bag. We should eat them instead of the delicious carbs.'

Manu smiled and sighed. 'I do this for you.' He flopped down next to Jev, offering them to him before balancing the bowl between them on the sofa.

'Thanks.' Jev put a few nuts in his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. _If this is a date, what's the deal with his wife? Oh God, I hope this isn't one of those “hey, you're bisexual, do you want a threesome” things. That would be so awkward_. 'Is your wife out for the night?'

'She never comes to this house. It's where I come to do president work away from the office, since she doesn't have clearance. It's easier to keep the security around her minimal if I do the “home” work here instead of there.'

 _Work. President work. He wants to work with me, not hook up. Fuck. I thought he'd brought me to his hookup apartment_. 'So this is a business meeting,' he said, unable to keep the disappointment out his voice.

Manu brushed the back of his hand against Jev's. 'Keeping our national heroes happy is work I enjoy doing.'

 _National hero? Nice! But_. 'I'm still work.'

Manu threw a nut into his mouth, chewing it before he spoke. 'Do you resent cars when you're taking a new one for a spin?'

'I'm not a car. I'm a human being.'

'But you enjoy the work.'

'Well, of course. I wouldn't do it if I didn't love it.'

'So?'

Jev let Manu's question hang for a moment, taking a sip of wine. 'You have a point.' He stuffed a handful of nuts into his mouth to keep himself from saying something that would dig him deeper into a hole. _I'm such an idiot for thinking this was a date. He's the fucking president. Of course he wasn't wanting a date_. He dragged the pad of his thumb over his glass, staring into the warm amber liquid as he chewed the nuts as slowly as he could without seeming rude. The pecans dried his mouth, so it's not like he could've chewed quickly, even if he wanted to. _You know he does that thing where he has celebrities over for dinner and drinks to buy himself some social currency. You thought that, and you dismissed it because you wanted him to be into you. God, Jev, you're so pathetic, acting like a horny teenager, showing off your forearms to tempt him. Good thing he's never going to see your choice of lucky underwear. That would be so humiliating!_ Jev looked out the window. _It's too warm to put my jacket back on without him noticing. Or is it? I could start with rolling up my sleeves, and then slide my jacket back on. No. Nut the fuck up, and land whatever deal he's offering you_. Jev swallowed and cleared his throat, looking up at Manu. 'What got you into politics?'

'I wanted to make a difference. Same as everyone.' He stared out the window for a moment. 'Maybe. Same as some people. Same as Barack and Justin.'

'Is it working?'

'I don't know. I felt like it might be working when I won the election. France chose me instead of the populist candidate. I'm the only European leader my counterpart across the Atlantic will listen to, even though the ice man has him by the balls with that ridiculous kink tape of his.'

'What was he even thinking, letting women he didn't know into his hotel room in Moscow? Did he not know who he was up against, and the dirty games Vlad played when he was stationed in Berlin?'

Manu rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. 'I know, right? It's chapter one of our companion icicle's playbook, and Donny fell for it!'

'Good thing I'm not president. I would've ordered a spy to steal the tape and post it to PornHub to equalise the game the easy way.'

Manu twirled the stem of his glass between his fingers, letting its lower rim run along his thigh. 'That's actually not the worst suggestion I've heard for dealing with that situation. I suppose the world is in a less shitty place than it would have been if the country had chosen the alternative to my presidency, but any decision could be the one that leads me to piloting France through a global nuclear Armageddon or a civil war as people fight about what it means to be French. And the real issue is that rebelling against the wealthy establishment is a French value, a personal value, but a shitty political policy.'

 _Fuck, and I thought I had problems_. 'You're good at your core. You're aiming for what's best for France.' He sipped his aperitif. 'I trust that you'll pilot the country well, if it comes to that. Nuclear Armageddon, I mean. Or civil war.'

Manu slapped Jev's arm with the back of his hand. 'You were supposed to say that it wouldn't come to NATO members nuking each other, or French citizens attacking immigrants and refugees. Or each other over religion.'

'I could be lying, because I can't guarantee that. I don't like to lie.'

'Not even about who you're dating? Sometimes telling jetlagged half-truths for two minutes is the same as a lie.'

Jev blushed. 'You watched that video?'

'My assistant saved it and put it on my airplane playlist. She keeps me up to date on our celebrities.'

 _Oh, God. Fuck_. 'It's saved?!'

'She had Intelligence set up a program for social media monitoring. We mostly look at the hateful comments written in French and basically all traffic from Russia or Russian-owned businesses in France who have multiple social media accounts regularly using one IP address, but a lot is caught in the drag net and the spam bots keep updating themselves to be smarter than our algorithms. Bastards at Facebook and Twitter keep blocking us. We've detected about a thousand people this year alone who'd been religiously radicalised. Makes it easier for them to be approached by conservative clerics – ones who have similar religious and social beliefs, but who aren't violent extremists – for community-based deradicalisation.'

Jev chuckled. 'They should've called you the social media candidate. Sounds like you have a strategy to target hate.' He sipped his aperitif.

Manu exhaled a gut-wrenching sigh. 'Religious extremism, yes. Sort of. A bit. Most of the time. Some of the time. People are less likely to report problematic Christians than Muslims. Homophobia, rape, racism, no. Not at all. My decisions haven't made one bit of difference for that. It's terrible that it's happening, and I'd like to detect more, but all I know how to do is the economics.' He looked over at Jev, a desperate look in his eye. 'For every homophobic attack in the news there are ten, twenty, a hundred others unreported except as accidents in primary care clinics, or years later in psychiatrists' or therapists' offices. Rape and racist attacks don't make the news, but my secretary makes sure the figures of new reports, convictions, and sentences are in my monthly briefings. The ones that feel safe enough to report them to the police, and for every one of those, there's ten, maybe a hundred that we don't know about. And then, if they get through the system, they're unlikely to get a conviction or a sentence that fits the crime.' Jev took his hand and stroked the back of his hand with his thumb, unsure of what to say to the weight on Manu's shoulders. Manu sighed. 'I'm sorry. This was supposed to be a happy dinner to celebrate your title.'

Jev cupped Manu's hand between his, gently stroking the back with his fingertips. 'I have an Australian friend who says that difficult feelings are like farts: better out than in.'

'That's true.' Manu chewed a nut and tipped his head to the side. 'That's deep for an Australian fart proverb. If you keep farts in, you get gut cramps. If you keep shitty feelings in, you get stress, loneliness, depression, which leads to a weak immune system, which makes it easier to get cancer, chronic infections like flu and herpes and HIV, which leads to bigger national health bills, which we can't fund without risking the super rich taking their money to somewhere with no wealth tax. Sharing feelings on social media doesn't count either, because someone told me about a recent study that said people who overshare on Facebook are less popular and feel more lonely, and therefore more prone to depression, cancer, chronic viral infections.' He sighed and took a big sip of his brandy. 'I need to make France talk to each other again.'

Jev snorted. 'Like when we all used to sit on the metro and read our newspapers and ignore each other, huh? Or stand pressed up against each other, pretending that nobody else was in the carriage?'

'Like when we all used to buy things from shops and at least have a few people who'd notice if we didn't show up for a while. Do you have any idea how many kids – young kids, kids who share apartments with each other and don't speak except to complain that the other finished the milk and didn't buy more – can skip the country and hitchhike to God only knows where and cause international diplomatic incidents, or be abducted and beaten or worse without anybody noticing? Their parents think they've been busy at work or school. Their roommates think they're hooking up at the flat of someone new. Their friends...I don't know if I can call them friends. What kind of friends have never met in person, huh? They go without posting for a few days, and people don't notice that they're gone from their feeds. And nobody checks in. Some assume they've been ghosted, and unfriend. And then when their parents go to the police, and the evidence trail is cold.' Manu drained his glass. 'There wasn't one class about this at my university. Talking. Making people talk to each other. Uniting a nation divided by ideological differences.'

Jev pulled Manu to lie against his chest. He wrapped his arm around him, kissing the top of his head the way Carl kissed him after a bad result. 'You've done pretty well, from what I can tell.'

'But have I done enough? I tell the press that I feel good about how France is doing, but there's so much I don't know how to even start dealing with.'

'How I talk to the press is never how I really feel. What have your advisors said about making the French people talk to each other again?'

Manu interlinked his fingers with Jev's, sighing another gut-wrenching sigh. 'You know those old stories where the king hires all the best wizards and magicians in the land, and still can't solve a problem?'

'And some kid from a shitty neighbourhood has a surprising answer that solves it?'

Manu squeezed Jev's hand. 'You got it.'

Jev sipped his brandy. 'Are you hoping that the kid from Pontoise who had to take an Austrian billionaire's money to race has your answer?'

'A team is smaller than a country, but you pulled Techeetah together from scratch and made everyone champions in two years.'

'We didn't win the teams' championship.'

'That wasn't my point and you know it.'

Jev sighed. 'It's easier to turn a racing yacht than the Titanic. I don't think I have the answer. You can't put on your home jeans and cook sausages and do the floss dance for the whole country to unite them like I did with the race team.'

'No. I don't even know where to buy vegan sausages.'

Jev chuckled, gently squeezing Manu's chest. 'If your assistant knows where to find the hipster athletes, she knows where to find vegan sausages.'

'Speaking of sausages, shall we eat?'

'Yeah, those nuts have me wanting more.'

'Wait here.' Manu tossed the remote onto Jev's side of the couch as he stood up. 'Enjoy the video stash my assistant put together for this week. Sorry, this house is off grid.'

'For security?'

'Yeah. It also helps me to have distance from that when I'm thinking and planning. I make better decisions when I'm not freaking out about what the media are saying about me.'

'That's a good tip. I should get Carl to send me summaries like your secretary does.'

'Enjoy my videos.' Manu stepped out of the room.

 


	3. Princely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manu treats Jev like a prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the opportunity of the government switching off the internet to rewrite/finish this chapter. The kitten kink was unexpected.
> 
> Potato dauphinoise (lit: princely potatoes), aka 'phinoise is potatoes peeled and chopped into 0.5cm slices, put in a dish with cheese, cream, garlic, and onions (and usually a smattering of family speciality ingredients), and left in a medium-warm oven until it's all squished together in creamy, carby deliciousness. It's pertinent to the story that you know this in advance.

Jev flipped on the TV to find a private playlist loaded. He hit play. Up first was Trevor Noah talking about how immigrants were only considered French when they'd done something cool, but they were African until that point. Jev's guts twisted a little. Years of making friends to benefit his public image and sponsor package had left him with very few “normal” French friends, save for the kids he karted with. Most of whom were French nationals. Most of whom were white. Many of whom came from wealthier families than him. Jev sighed, playing with the rope trim running around the edge of the cushion. _I understand why he chooses this over the news. I don't resent this guy for saying what he says, even though it's painfully true, because he's funny. I wish I was funny_. Next was a video about a honey badger who kept escaping his enclosure, even when all he had as a tool for escape was mud from his pond. Jev chuckled to himself. _I must show this to Dan when I next see him. He needs inspiration for his escape from Red Bull_. Manu walked in, carrying a pair of plates. Roast venison and potato dauphinoise with most of the plate covered in sumptuously beautiful salad. Jev eyed the potatoes, feeling warm inside. _He got the chef to make 'phinoise for me because he thinks I'm a prince_.

'Not too naughty,' Manu said, putting their plates down on the table in front of them and walking to the drinks trolley. 'Some wine?'

Jev drained his brandy, clicked off the TV, and walked over to Manu. Emboldened by the aperitif and cuddle, he stood close enough that he could feel the warmth of Manu's bicep as he surveyed the options. Manu put a hand between his shoulder blades, running his thumb over the muscle. Jev resisted the urge to snuggle into his shoulder, instead inspecting the labels.

'Bordeaux?' Manu said quietly, his breath warm against Jev's ear. 'From a collector who sent me a case. It'll pair well with the flavours.'

 _Fuck, you'd pair well with the flavours, even though you say you don't want me like that_. 'You're right. Let's have the Bordeaux.'

Manu poured two generous glasses, handing one to Jev before taking his own and the bottle to their spot on the couch. He picked up his plate, sat cross-legged, and sagged back into the sofa cushions, balancing one in his lap to act as a makeshift table. Jev followed his example, glad he'd won the title during his country's youngest president's term. _I can't imagine doing this with Hollande. Or Sarkozy. Ever_.

'This is really good,' Jev said around a mouthful.

'I chose a good chef as my presidential caterer. Perks of the job.' Manu lifted his wine glass over his body, extending it to Jev for a toast.

'I'll drink to that. I'd love to have someone to make sure all my food is this delicious.'

'You don't have a personal chef?'

'With what money? I drive for the smallest team in Formula E. And LMP2 is definitely not about the glamour and big salaries.'

'I thought maybe you had someone for your nutrition. If you need Jean-Michel any time you're in Paris, let me know.'

'Thanks.' Jev had a mouthful of potato, enjoying the luxuriously creamy, salty, cheesy bouquet of the dish. He swallowed, gesturing with his fork. 'What was the grossest thing about visiting DJT?'

Manu wrinkled his nose. 'The smell of shitty burgers in all the rooms he uses. I swear, if the stress and loneliness of the presidency don't get him, the salt and processed meat definitely will.'

'Ugh. How many of them does he eat?'

'I don't even know. The cocktail of pills he takes – I don't know what he takes for sure, but his assistant rattles like a pharmaceutical sales rep – they obviously make him hungry, because whenever the cameras aren't there, cake and shitty burgers are.'

Jev laughed at Manu's description of his American counterpart's assistant. 'What pills is he on?'

'I don't know, but he twitches when the assistant walks too loudly.'

'That sounds unhealthy. The cake doesn't sound too bad in comparison.'

'Red velvet?'

'Oh, no, that's not a cake. Who wants to eat velvet patisserie?'

'Americans?'

'Yeah.' Jev scrolled through the places he'd been to in the US, remembering where he'd actually enjoyed his meal. 'Outside the cities with a lot of immigrants, their food is shit.'

'Their pies are decent, even if the pastry is too heavy. Well. The filling is decent. They could use less sugar, but it's edible.'

'Compared to European patisserie, though?'

'No, we're definitely better at food. I'm just trying to be fair to them. Not the British. Their food doesn't count as European.'

'Yeah. It's very easy to be orthorexic in London, because almost none of the junk food is interesting to me.'

Manu raised his eyebrow, but to Jev's relief he let the comment pass. 'You also feel nauseated by the smell of the chips?'

'The potatoes don't taste right, and they make up for it with salt. Not enough of it, now that they're all worried about heart disease.'

'French potatoes, on the other hand, taste like they've seen the sun during their lives.'

Jev grunted in agreement as he chewed his mouthful. Manu took his hand. 'Thank you for listening to me earlier. It got a bit dark for a moment. I got a bit dark.'

Jev swallowed loudly, and squeezed Manu's hand. He shifted, taking a moment to stroke his fingers along Manu's before interlacing them. 'You have a heavy weight on your shoulders, running the country at a time like this. I like you more now that I know you don't have it all together. It makes you more likeable. Even if I know this dinner is just work to you.'

Manu glanced up at him from under his eyelashes. 'I didn't say this was just work. I said it was president work. If it was “just work,” we'd be in a restaurant, being photographed for our public images. For my popularity.'

Jev's tummy tingled as he chewed his lip. _It really is a date! But I regret my choice of underwear. Now that we've chatted a bit more, he doesn't seem kinky enough to appreciate them. Shit. Oh well, you'll have to be well behaved, won't you, Jev?_ 'Do you bring all the handsome men back here, then?'

'Only you.' He pressed Jev's knuckles against his lips, and turned to look out the window at the fading twilight. 'When you framed my letter, I felt really good. People don't normally do that. They're trying too hard to be cool, I think.'

'And you like that I'm not cool?'

Manu grinned at him. 'You're very cool. I meant that you don't try too hard. You're naturally cool.'

Jev lifted their hands to his lips, gently kissing Manu's fingers. 'Thank you. I think you're very cool too.'

Manu put his empty plate on the coffee table in front of them. He tried to take Jev's, but Jev held onto it, scraped the last mouthful of potato dauphinoise onto his fork, and shovelled it into his mouth. He hummed, handing Manu his plate. Manu put it down on top of his own, and arranged the cutlery in a neat row. As he looked up at Jev, he giggled.

'You have some 'phinoise...' Manu tapped the corner of his mouth. Jev blushed as he ran his tongue over the corner of his mouth, but found nothing. Manu reached out his hand. 'Here, let me.' He scooped it up with his thumb. Jev parted his lips in a challenge, looking Manu in the eye. Manu's mouth twitched into a little smile. He gently pushed his thumb into his mouth. Jev sucked his digit clean, humming appreciatively. He caught Manu's hand as he moved it.

'Please scratch my chin?'

Manu cupped Jev's cheek with his hand, gently scratching under his jawline like a cat. _Oh yeah, right there, Mr President_. Jev purred as he laid his head against the back of the sofa, a sound that became a moan when Manu straddled his lap, skritching him with both hands. Jev ran his hands up Manu's thighs. He rested them on his hips, sliding his thumbs inside Manu's shirt to gently caress his flat abs. Manu leaned forward and pressed soft kisses onto his cheeks.

'What are you into, best French defender?' Manu said in his ear.

'This. You making me your kitten, telling me I'm a hero, making me comfortable and warm and feeding me comfort food like dauphinoise.'

Manu cupped Jev's jaw, scratching where the corner met his neck, as he slid his other hand down his chest. Jev purred. Manu frotted against him, nibbling his earlobe.

'You're my good kitten, bringing me back all those shiny trophies.'

Jev groaned as he guided Manu's hips. 'Yeah I am.'

Manu undid Jev's shirt buttons and gently scratched the fluff on his chest. Jev purred in the back of his throat, thrusting into Manu's groin.

'You make filthy noises,' Manu said between kisses pressed against Jev's neck.

'This is the first time I've moaned for you, no?'

Manu looked down at Jev. 'You moaned with happiness when you won here in April.' His voice was barely audible. Jev cupped Manu's ass, stroking his thumbs along the waistband.

'Did you like how it sounded?'

Manu kissed Jev's mouth. 'Yes, very much.' Jev ran his hands up Manu's back and kissed him back. He licked Manu's lips, and was rewarded with a quiet whimper into his mouth as their tongues brushed over each other. Jev cradled the back of Manu's head, wrapped the other arm around his waist, and looked into his eyes.

'Would you like me to be in charge?'

'Please, Vanquisher.'

Jev held Manu close and kissed him, grinding up against him. Manu moaned softly as he ruffled Jev's beard with his fingertips. Someone knocked on the drawing room door. Manu sighed and rested his forehead against Jev's. 'Time for dessert.'

'Can it wait? I eat you, and then we eat dessert?'

'Soufflé waits for nobody.'

Manu kissed Jev, untangled himself from the embrace, and walked out the door. _Well fuck, that went well. I didn't expect chin scratches from the president_. Jev picked up the remote and turned the TV on to distract from the internal war between wanting to get his phone out the security box and text Nico to tell him it really was a date, and wanting to follow Manu, push him up against something, and make out with him like a teenager. _Maybe make respectful, admiring love to him? Let him relax and be pleasured?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YouTube videos mentioned: “The Daily Show – Between the Scenes,” the episode where Trevor responds to criticism from the French ambassador to the US; “honey badger houdini,” the Beeb docco short.

**Author's Note:**

> Cuff links available from Alyssa Smith. Not a paid promotion; I just think her jewellery is cool.


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